


Osmosis

by kadabralin



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Aliens, Happy Ending, M/M, Mind Control, OT3, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sharing a Body, brain slugs, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadabralin/pseuds/kadabralin
Summary: Jeremy Heere isn't just Jeremy Heere, anymore. He's been taken over by something more sinister; an alien, or maybe a Cthulu monstrosity. Michael knows this.He hadn't intended to have sex with it.Birthday fic for ihopealiensbelieveinme, based on our Animorphs/The Host inspired brain slug AU.Tagged with noncon to cover all bases, please use your discretion.
Relationships: Jeremy Heere/Jeremy Heere's Squip/Michael Mell
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	Osmosis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ihopealiensbelieveinme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihopealiensbelieveinme/gifts).



He wasn't sure how they'd gotten here.

Even his memory on how this had all started was fuzzy. Jeremy had been acting weird, and then started avoiding him, and there'd been a fight...

Now they were fucking in the boy's locker room. It wasn't even the first time.

Michael’s back was pressed uncomfortably into the lockers, legs wrapped around Jeremy’s waist, face pressed into his neck. The lockers creaked loudly every time Jeremy thrust into him, and he wondered how it was even possible that no one had discovered him yet. Not that it stopped him from, uselessly, biting back the whine in his throat. Jeremy came first, hands squeezing his hips, tight enough to leave bruises. Michael came quickly after, and this time he wasn’t able to stifle the sounds he made.

“ _Fuck._ ”

He slumped against Jeremy’s chest, breath shuddering, unwilling to move away from the warmth of his skin and the quick thud of his heartbeat in his chest. Jeremy broke the connection for him, though, and when he pulled back to cup Michael’s face, he had the most uncharacteristic smirk on his stupid, smug face.

That was because the thing in front of him wasn’t Jeremy, not _really_. It looked like Jeremy, sounded like Jeremy, sometimes actually _was_ Jeremy, but not now. Right now it was the thing inside him that Michael was fucking. He wasn’t even sure what it was, exactly. Space alien? Cthulhu monstrosity? They’d explained it to him the first time, what they were and why they were puppeting Jeremy around like a toy, but he hadn’t really cared. He’d been more worried about the safety of his best friend, and they’d assured him that Jeremy was fine. More than fine. “Happy”. And Jeremy was even in control most of the time.

All Michael remembered was that they said Jeremy had named them Squip, but personally, he preferred to call them _brain slug_.

Jeremy didn’t know that he knew, though. They hadn’t been on speaking terms since their big argument, and they’d barely been talking much before that, anyway. Michael didn’t fit in with the popular crowd, which Squip had been needling their way into by having Jeremy act “cool”. Improving his place in society. Ensuring a happy, fulfilling future.

Blah blah blah.

Michael would’ve strangled them if it weren’t actually Jeremy’s neck.

“Are you feeling bad again?” the brain slug asked him. They were looking Michael over, still naked, dissecting him with Jeremy’s eyes as they pulled up their pants. “What he doesn’t know can’t harm him.”

That was right.

Jeremy didn’t know that he knew, and also didn’t know that Michael was fucking the brain slug inside of him. Their argument hadn’t stopped him from pestering Jeremy every which way, desperate for acknowledgment, for an explanation, something, _anything_. Jeremy was his best friend, his only friend.

Also, he was in love with him, which was all kinds of sad and messed up.

Squip had obviously gotten frustrated with his persistence, and Michael had no one to blame but himself. He’d agreed to all of it. Screwing his best friend without his knowledge, at school, so he could run off and bask in his growing popularity. 

“He’s asleep,” the brain slug had insisted the first time. “Relax. He won’t remember any of it.”

Michael should have said no.

He should have said no the second time. And the third time. And he should have said no this time, too, but he was weak and desperate. Disgusting. How could he live with himself? Jeremy could never know. 

“This is the last time,” Michael finally said, grabbing his boxers from the floor. “We can’t do this anymore.”

They smiled knowingly at him. 

This wasn’t going to be the last time, and Michael knew it, too. They leaned in, kissed him once, sweetly, the way he’d imagined Jeremy kissing him in his fantasies. 

“See you tomorrow, Michael.”

Michael hated that he enjoyed every second of it.

* * *

They were playing video games.

“Left, _left_ \-- Shit, no, fuck, f-fuck, fuck! Oh, shit, you saved my ass, Michael.”

They were talking again. He didn’t even know why.

“You think I can k-kill this boss with just a w-wooden spoon?”

It was easy to fall back into the old rhythm, like nothing had ever happened, they were still best friends, there were no brain slugs, and they definitely weren’t fucking.

It was fun. Michael had missed this, just spending time together, in his basement, dealing with the stress of school and looming college obligations with video games and weird youtube videos. Jeremy had spent the night, even, which hadn’t happened in a while. Not that Michael planned on sleeping. He was too anxious with Jeremy sleeping next to him, unaware that he was a total creep and conspiring with his little secret. 

Plus, he was a chronic insomniac, anyway.

Michael usually circumvented that by smoking, but Jeremy had declined the offer, again, like he had every time they’d hung out, no doubt because of Squip, and he hadn’t wanted to smoke alone. So now Michael was left to twiddle his thumbs as he stared at the ceiling, too scared to move or do much of anything else.

Jeremy sat up suddenly, his body looming over him in the darkness. 

“Do you have to sweat so much?”

It was the brain slug.

Michael wrinkled his face in disgust. “Go away.”

“I can’t, I live here.” They were referring to Jeremy. Michael hated it.

“Okay, then shut up, I’m trying to sleep.” 

“No you aren’t.” In a single, swift motion, they’d climbed on top of him, seated on his lap. Michael frowned up at them but didn’t push them away.

“What do you want? Why are you letting Jeremy hang out with me all of a sudden?”

They tilted their head. “He was unhappy, he wanted to see you, and I was tired of arguing with him.”

“Oh, because you actually care?” Michael said, sarcastically.

“Yes.” It was matter-of-fact. “Jeremy is my host. Of course I care about him and his needs.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “How fucking generous.”

Squip pouted. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I’m glad I got to hang out with him again, like we should have been, anyway. Everything was fine until _you_ showed up.”

For the briefest second, the brain slug looked genuinely hurt, but it was quickly replaced with a more neutral expression. 

“I’m improving his life,” they insisted. “He needs me.”

“ _You_ need _him_.”

“Perhaps.” They ran their hands, Jeremy’s hands, slowly up his chest. “I care about you, too.”

It took Michael a moment to process the statement.

“Uh… no?”

“It’s true.” They rubbed his chest in soothing, circular motions, and then rolled their hips. “If I didn’t think you had any merit I wouldn’t have kept up this little arrangement.”

Michael ignored the heat quickly pooling between his legs. He didn’t want to have sex with Jeremy in his bed like this. It was too weird. “If you care about both Jeremy and me, then you should tell him what you’ve been doing with _his_ body.”

Squip paused, then resumed the slow, rhythmic roll of their hips against his. “If we do that, he’ll be unhappy with the both of us, and it would only complicate matters.”

“Great. So I just have to lie to him forever. Cool.”

“Not forever,” they purred. “Just for now.” They gracefully pulled off Jeremy’s pajama shirt, folded it neatly, and then reached down to rub a hand against Michael’s growing erection. Michael grit his teeth and pressed his hands against Jeremy’s shoulders, flipping them over so he was on top, pressing Jeremy-but-not-Jeremy into the mattress.

They stared at each other in silence.

“You don’t want to play tonight?” Squip finally said, expression coy, hands sliding up his forearms. “That’s a shame, we’re in a bed and everything, it’d be much more comfortable to fuck you here than the locker room.”

“Jesus, just… shut _up_ already.”

“No-”

But Michael was already kissing them, crashing their lips together hard enough for their teeth to clack together. Maybe they couldn’t have sex, but making out was fine. Just a little. Maybe. He was feeling frazzled and he needed an outlet. This was a good one.

Squip didn’t hesitate. They pressed into the kiss with a soft, satisfied chuckle, Jeremy’s tongue brushing across Michael’s lips and inside his mouth, and Michael cradled the back of their head, determined to be in charge of the situation. The brain slug knew him, though. Hands slid up his back until one snaked into his hair, then pulled hard. Michael gasped, which fizzled into a pleased moan. He bit Jeremy’s lip in retaliation. 

Not that hard. He didn’t want to leave any questionable marks. Squip seemed to enjoy it, based on the sound he made.

Michael kissed them like he was starving, which he kind of was, considering they hadn’t done anything since he and Jeremy had been hanging out again. The self-loathing wasn’t strong enough to prevent him from wanting it. He kissed them until they were both breathless, Michael sitting up just enough to look at their face. Squip looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, mouth partially open, face flushed.

He was proud of himself, honestly. 

When he’d caught his breath, he said, “you need to tell him. Soon.”

They looked up at him curiously. “That would ruin my relationship with him.”

“I don’t care. We can’t just… keep doing this. And not let him know.”

The brain slug considered. And then shrugged. “Fine, then _you_ tell him.”

“What?”

Jeremy’s expression flipped from infuriating indifference to a groggy state of confusion. He blinked rapidly while Michael stared stupidly, unable to move. Finally, Jeremy seemed to focus, and the confusion only grew. Michael launched himself off of Jeremy’s lap, overshot, and landed on the floor with a thud. He hissed in pain, then scrambled to sit.

“Michael?” Jeremy sat up, looking around the room, at Michael, and then his bare chest. “What’s going on?”

_Think._

_Think of something to say._

_Don’t just fucking sit here say something._

“I drooled. On your shirt. By accident. So I took it off.”

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I dropped it.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows furrowed as he chewed his lip anxiously. “Uh. Okay. Thanks, I guess?”

“Yep. Sorry for waking you. Night, Jere.”

Michael contemplated throwing himself into traffic in the morning.

He didn’t, obviously. It was a Sunday, and Sunday morning traffic would have been ineffective, anyway.

* * *

Michael hadn’t been expecting anyone. Jeremy had been avoiding him again, for a whole week, but this time even Squip wouldn’t speak to him. He’d resigned himself to it; why bother anymore? Might as well just let it happen. It was less frustrating this way, less confusing. Easier to avoid the probable confrontation when Jeremy found out what they’d been doing.

It was 6 PM on a Friday and someone was knocking on the door. Michael’s mom’s weren’t home, so he chose to ignore whoever it was, but the knocking was persistent. He gave up and answered the door.

Jeremy stood there, and he was crying.

“Holy shit, Jeremy? What’s wrong?” Michael ushered Jeremy inside, full of alarm and concern. It had to be something serious if Jeremy was crying, but usually, he would have called first.

“I broke him,” they said. The tone was flat but trembled slightly. “Jeremy. I broke him.”

Michael stared blankly. The _brain slug_ was crying, not Jeremy. His stomach filled with dread.

“What do you mean you _broke_ him? What did you do?” 

“I suppressed him,” they stated. “I should have suppressed him when I first made him my host, but I chose not to. It was more beneficial that way— But we got into an argument and he was refusing to cooperate, so I suppressed him. It was supposed to be temporary, but he won’t resurface. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Michael echoed, dread drowning under a wave of something colder, chilling him to the core.

Jeremy was dead. That’s what this thing was telling him. They’d killed his best friend.

“I don’t know what to do,” Squip said quietly, almost pleading. 

“How long?” Michael asked, voice as icy as his chest.

“A week.”

That’s why Jeremy had been avoiding him, because it wasn’t Jeremy anymore. Michael had let it happen. He should have done something. He should have figured out a way to get rid of it, to save Jeremy before any of this happened. Why had he been so complacent?

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Michael exploded, blasting the ice to smithereens. “Why would you do that to him? What were you thinking!? You killed him!”

“I’m sorry.” Squip’s carefully crafted neutrality was melting into genuine distress. “I was frustrated. I-”

“You were _frustrated_ so you killed him? Why did you even come here? You should have just— You should have just fucking left and never come back.” Michael knew, deep down, if that had been the case, he would have gone after them. He would have followed Jeremy and his stupid brain slug to the ends of the Earth. Probably also into space.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” The steady stream of tears hadn’t stopped. They dripped down their face without a sob or a sniffle, a constant gentle waterfall. The eyes were red, like it had been going on for a while. If it were actually Jeremy, he’d be a snotty mess by now.

Michael didn’t know what to do or where to go, either.

He was entirely numb by morning.

Jeremy—no, just Squip now—had curled up against his side, wrapped in a blanket, head on his shoulder. Michael was holding them. What else could he do? He couldn’t deny them the small comforts. The situation was both their faults, anyway. The two of them were complicit in the murder of Jeremy Heere, and they couldn’t even tell anyone about it. No one would believe it.

“Perhaps,” Squip said slowly, over a mug full of ramen, “if we gave Jeremy space, it would give him room to come back.”

“What does that mean?” Michael didn’t have the energy to be accusatory or suspicious.

“I make you my host, temporarily, and see if Jeremy wakes up on his own.”

“No,” was Michael’s immediate response. The idea alone gave him the heebie-jeebies. Become a slave to a brain slug? No thanks.

Squip frowned at him. “It’s the only possible solution I can think of.”

“Well then think… think harder!”

Michael wouldn’t agree with it, no way, no how.

* * *

He agreed to it.

Michael had to agree that it sounded reasonable. If the brain slug wasn’t in his head anymore to cause further damage, Jeremy could come back. Maybe he was only a little dead? But why did he have to become the host in the meantime?

“I can’t exist outside a host body for very long,” Squip said as they laid back against the bed. “You’re going to have to assist in the transfer, as I can’t do it on my own.”

Everything about this sounded deeply unpleasant, but it was for Jeremy, and Michael had to do something to help him. Squip went still, breath slow and even, tears long since dried. He didn’t know what to expect, exactly, when Jeremy went slack, and something began to protrude from his right ear. 

_What the fuck, it really _is_ a slug._

They were a lot bigger than Michael had been expecting, and looked far too large to fit inside someone’s ear once fully emerged. They were translucent, allowing Michael to see all of their inner workings, like some kind of bizarre, slug-shaped jellyfish. It was almost pretty, in a gross kind of way. The feelers at the front waved around lazily, touching Jeremy’s face, and then maneuvering to graze Michael’s leg. He just stared at them.

It would be easy to kill them.

Michael could exact his revenge and squash Squip like a bug. It was obvious why they couldn’t do the transfer themselves; they were slow and didn’t seem to be able to see outside the feelers. He could kill them and end this whole affair. Jeremy was breathing on his own, so that had to be a good sign. Could people in comas breathe on their own?

It occurred to him, then, how genuinely vulnerable Squip was. This had been their suggestion, their solution, and they’d trusted Michael enough to go through with it. Leave the safety of Jeremy’s body and present themselves for his assistance, for Jeremy. Either Squip really, truly trusted him, or they cared about Jeremy more than just a means to an end. Maybe both. 

He couldn’t, in good conscience, kill Squip. If this didn’t work and Jeremy didn’t recover, he’d be responsible for two deaths. (And, maybe, deep down, he cared about Squip too, some form of Stockholm Syndrome). 

This was for Jeremy.

Michael scooped Squip up into his palms and the mass of them filled his hands. 

_Now or never, Michael Mell._

He settled into a more comfortable position and held Squip up to his ear. There was some minute hesitation, Squip’s feelers testing his earlobe and the canal, which kind of tickled. And then Squip began to slowly crawl inside. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Squip wasn’t slimy at all, but they were cold, and it made him shudder. The pain that followed was brief, too, similar to the ear infections he was prone to as a child—

And when he came to he was sitting up, hands clenching and unclenching slowly. It was a weird sensation, since Michael wasn’t doing it himself. It felt like a twitch, but the movement was very deliberate.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” The voice rang in his head. Michael was perturbed.

 _You have twenty-four hours_ , Michael responded. _That’s it. Then you’re out._

“More than enough time,” Squip said. They paused. “Thank you.”

 _Yeah._ His body was moving without his permission again. It fucking sucked. _Okay. Ground rules. You can be here, but you’re not allowed to do anything._

It took some serious effort, and it felt like Michael was moving through a pool of mud, but he managed to still himself, and then he stood up. He made an involuntary grunting noise and he wasn’t sure if that was himself or Squip. Either way, they were clearly annoyed with him.

“You don’t have to be difficult.”

_I’m not being difficult! It’s my body, not a free ride._

The worst part, in the end, was the waiting. It was agonizing, watching Jeremy for any signs of life, clock ticking impossibly slow. Michael got sick of sitting around and started pacing the room instead. It felt good to move his legs, to move in general. Much better than just sitting there in emotional agony and the constant reminder that Squip was in his brain, now. He left the room only to shower and to get food, but he was back at Jeremy’s side immediately. Waiting. Still waiting. Hour after hour after hour.

And then, like some kind of miracle, Jeremy began to stir.

He twitched a little, groaned softly, opened his eyes just a little. The relief was immediate and intoxicating, and all Michael could think was, _oh my god he’s alive._ He swooped down, pulling Jeremy into a hug, and then kissed him. It felt weird—not the kissing part, that was fine—but Michael felt weird physically. It was an odd tingling sensation, almost like déjà vu, but physical, and then he realized it was because Squip had wanted to kiss Jeremy, too, and they were moving in tandem.

Weird.

When Michael pulled back, Jeremy was looking up at him with a disoriented puzzlement. “Michael?”

“Hey, Jere,” he said, softly, tilting their foreheads together. “Glad you’re awake.”

“Why did you…?” Jeremy trailed off, eyes squinting, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then his breathing picked up. “Wait, where’s… Th-they’re not here, what-”

“I’m right here, Jeremy,” Squip said, blatantly breaking Michael’s single rule, but he decided to allow it. “I’m in here.”

“W-what’s going on?” 

“I’ll explain everything when I’m back where I belong.”

_Coward._

Michael’s arms tightened around Jeremy, squeezing him close, and Jeremy melted into it. He’d never felt so happy.

“We should have sex with him.”

_Uh. What._

“You want to. So do I.”

He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.

_Now?_

“Yes.” They paused. “I’ve always wanted to do more. We masturbate, but it isn’t always enough.”

That answered a lot of questions, but Michael wasn’t sure if the knowledge was worth it.

_So you want to fuck him before you have to go back inside his brain._

“I’d put it more nicely, but yes.”

Michael pulled back to look at Jeremy, who smiled softly up at him, still a little puzzled. It would be the first, and maybe possibly last, time he had sex with just Jeremy, though Squip was still involved.

He’d take it.

They kissed again, with slightly less exuberance than before, but Jeremy hesitated.

_He doesn’t want me._

“Yes, he does.” 

Jeremy pressed into the kiss, Michael could feel the heat of his blush radiating from his skin, and he felt like his heart was going to explode. He was making out with Jeremy, _actual_ Jeremy, he could barely believe it.

“ _We_ are making out with Jeremy,” Squip corrected.

_Shut up, brain slug._

Squip made a noise like a scoff, but didn’t say anything else. Apparently things were much easier when he and Squip both wanted the same thing; it wasn’t difficult to move, it wasn’t a struggle, it was quick and tingly. They slipped their hands under Jeremy’s shirt, caressing his stomach and sides, until Jeremy made a soft noise of pleasure. But then he pulled back, face burning.

“Wait, w-what about Michael?”

“I’m cool with it, Jere,” he said assuringly. More than cool. The coolest of cool. Cool enough not to think about the fact that he’d fucked Jeremy more times than he could count when he wasn’t conscious and not feel guilty about it. That conversation could wait.

“Oh.” Jeremy grabbed into Michael’s shirt and pulled him in, kissing him more fiercely, like his life depended on it, and they were more than happy to oblige. Jeremy was pressed down into the mattress, he squirmed a little under them, it was cute. They kissed down his throat, pausing to suck small bruises into the skin, leaving Jeremy groaning and grasping at the back of their shirt. They removed Jeremy’s shirt in a single fluid motion, to kiss down his chest, hands rubbing up and down Jeremy’s inner thighs, until finally rubbing the erection he already had. “Oh _f-fuck_.”

Jeremy pressed his hips up, and they teased him for a while, while Jeremy bit his lip and swore and feet slid against the bed. The pants needed to go now, both pairs did. Pants and boxers landed beside Jeremy’s discarded shirt, and Michael reached over to grab the lube from the drawer next to the bed. 

“You’re so hot, Jeremy,” they said, watching his face, examining the flush to his cheeks and the neediness in his expression. “You’re beautiful.”

They pressed their lubed fingers against him and slowly worked their way inside as Jeremy’s soft giggles faded into a moan. 

“You’re h- you’re r-really fucking h-ho— fuck.”

They laughed softly and leaned down to kiss him again as they worked him, Jeremy’s hands free to roam. He slipped his hands up their back, nails grazing the skin, and they groaned at the sensation of it. Then his hands were in their hair, pulling at the strands, moving down again to grope anywhere they could reach. When they finally thrust into him, it was almost pure ecstasy. Jeremy’s grip on them tightened, moans going from soft to obscene. 

“Jesus, Jeremy,” Michael panted, kissing his jaw and face.

He swallowed. “S-sorry, are your m-mom’s—”

They kissed him again to silence him, letting Jeremy moan into their mouth instead with each thrust. They kept the pace slow at first, almost obnoxiously slow, but it felt too good to keep it up. It wasn’t just Michael who could feel it; Squip could feel it, too, and it was if both of their pleasure combined to make everything more intense, more heightened. 

No wonder Jeremy masturbated with them.

The thrusts became faster, one hand on Jeremy’s hip to steady themselves, the other pressing one of Jeremy’s wrists down, until they came with a loud moan, Jeremy quickly following suit. He bit down on their lip and writhed up against them before collapsing back against the bed, breathing hard, free arm thrown over his face. 

They laid against him, letting go of his wrist to thread their fingers together.

Perhaps it was possible to just stay like this forever.

* * *

“S-so a whole week of my life is just… gone?”

Jeremy had taken the conversation well, so far, as limited with the truth it was. He’d put his shirt back on, but the pants were abandoned. He sat on the bed with his arms wrapped around his legs, pulled to his chest, chin resting on his knees. 

“Yes,” Squip said, the guiltiest Michael had ever heard them sound. “I’m sorry. I never wanted that for you.”

“I g-guess it could’ve been worse.” Jeremy’s brows furrowed. The silence of the room was smothering. “C-can I talk to Michael, now?”

Squip frowned. “Of course.”

And then Michael was left to deal with the fallout. 

“I, um…” Jeremy blushed faintly, not meeting Michael’s gaze. “I d-didn’t know you liked me like that.”

Michael scratched the back of his head, guilt and shame eating away at his organs. “I’ve liked you a long time. Since middle school, probably.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I thought you didn’t like me that way! And I didn’t want to fuck up our friendship.”

Jeremy frowned and tilted against him. “I wouldn’t have let it ruin our friendship.”

“I… yeah, but I didn’t want to risk it.” Michael rubbed his arms. “Listen, Jeremy, I need to tell you something, and you might hate me after, which is fine, because I deserve it, but-”

“I know what you and Squip were d-doing.”

Michael’s mouth went dry. “What?”

“Well, I mean, you uh, k-kind of just confirmed it for me.” Jeremy looked at him, finally. “I thought they were just… weird dreams, but they were too vivid, and didn’t make sense.”

Michael didn’t know what to say. He could try to defend himself, but that seemed pointless, and wasn’t fair to Jeremy.

_Do you have anything to say to him?_

“No.”

It figured that Squip would be useless.

“Are you…upset?”

Jeremy shrugged weakly. “I don’t know how I feel about it yet. It’s, uh, it’s a l-lot to process.”

“I’m really sorry, Jeremy.”

“I know. It wasn’t just you. Squip started it.”

_Have anything to say now?_

He could feel that Squip was nervous. It was bizarre, just like the rest of the sensations he’d been feeling since letting them in his brain.

Squip gently brushed their fingers through Jeremy’s hair. “Am I allowed to come back?”

Jeremy grabbed the hand from his head and gave it a soft squeeze. For a terrifying second Michael thought he was going to say no, which was entirely reasonable, he’d been through enough, and Michael could learn to deal with this, but…

“Yeah. You can come back.”

“Don’t act so relieved, Michael, I’m not that terrible.”

* * *

Michael could always tell if it was Jeremy or Squip. He couldn’t say how, exactly, they’d gotten to this point, but he was happy enough with the outcome. 

Jeremy kissed him, and it was sweet and needy like it always was, but then he’d bite, without warning. That was Squip, determined to mark their property, to Michael’s immense displeasure. They also preferred to top, always, but this time Michael was in control, and he intended to fuck the both of them into the 5th dimension. Jeremy was stroking himself, though, and it was obvious by the hand movements and the way his breath hitched that it wasn’t actually Jeremy’s doing. He grabbed Jeremy’s wrist and pinned it over his head while Jeremy bit back a moan, and Michael took on stroking Jeremy himself in time with each thrust.

As it turned out, Squip and Jeremy always came at the same time. Knowing that was extremely satisfying. Also, they were both cuddlers, which Michael never would have guessed with how quickly Squip had always left the locker room before. 

When Jeremy’s breathing had slowed, he nuzzled into the crook of Michael’s neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It didn’t matter who had said it, or who it was directed to because if Michael was honest with himself, he loved them both the same. 

Even brain slugs deserved love.


End file.
